When they were fifty paces distant, a wide grin split Hostilius’s bearded face. For a moment I was confused, but then I recognized one of the men, dressed as a centurion. It was Didius Castus, my stuttering optio from years earlier, who had risen through the ranks to lead the seventh cohort.
The other two were both senior centurions, namely Statius Timoni, who used to be in charge of the second cohort and Cassio Rufinus, whose unit had slipped my mind.
“You’d better not be wasting my bloody time or I will have you all on latrine duty for the rest of your short, miserable lives!” Hostilius boomed in his parade ground voice when the men were twenty paces from us.
A few things happened almost simultaneously.
The three men came to an abrupt halt, with Didius coming to attention, and his comrades staring at us in wonder, their mouths slightly ajar.
It took a few heartbeats for the baffled men to regain their composure. My former optio awkwardly stood at ease when he realised his mistake.
Didius squinted into the light. “Umbra? P…Primus Pilus? Is it really you? Are you an apparition sent by the gods to punish us for what we have done?”
I walked towards him and clasped his arm. “No my friend, it is far worse than you have imagined. We are not the tools of the gods, we are the vanguard of the Goths.”
They wanted to protest, but I held up my hand. “Go tell the men to stay where they are. They will be in grave danger if they travel further on this road. When you return we will join Primus Pilus Hostilius and Tribune Marcus. We need to hear your tale.”
Bradakos and his entourage rode back to the Scythian army with a reluctant Gordas in tow. The Roxolani would not advance until we understood the situation.
On the return of the centurions, we walked to the distant treeline where the road crossed the Utus River. I took two wine skins from my saddle. We all sat down in the shade of a great oak on the bank of the stream.
We knew each other from way back and all felt at ease. I passed the wine skin around and everyone drank deeply.
Then Didius told his tale.
“Tribune Umbra, we heard that you, the Primus Pilus and Tribune Marcus were exiled for cowardice and insubordination. They told us you tried to kill the emperor and that you were executed.”
“We didn’t believe a word of it, sir, ‘cause if you had really tried to kill him, he wouldn’t be alive, would he?” He grinned and continued. “But we were told you were dead so we just carried on. We had no choice, sir.”
He accepted the wine skin, drank and passed it on. “The legate and the tribunes were recalled soon after, and they sent us brand new ones fresh from Rome. Never been in the sun, all white as snow. Knew nothing ‘bout fighting either.”
“When did Senator Decius arrive, Centurion?” Marcus asked.
“They sent him soon after we heard that the barbarians had invaded Dacia. We heard horror stories about them barbarians ripping the limbs from the officers.”
He looked over his shoulder as if expecting a barbarian to materialise.
“The IV Italica marched immediately and the VII Claudia joined us along the way, sir.”
“They marched us at double pace, all the way up the Iron Gates, until some men collapsed. They’re good boys, sir, same as you remember, but the officers were all mounted and they didn’t see it our way.”
“Old Tertius from the first of the second was flogged to death, sir ‘cause he couldn’t keep up.”
I noticed Hostilius go red in the face. His hand went to the hilt of his gladius.
“Long ago Tertius saved my life”, Hostilius growled. “Give me a name.”
Didius averted Hostilius’s gaze, and looked down at the ground. “Senator Decius made us watch, sir. One of them speculatores used the scourge on him. Don’t know his name, sir.”
“Then the horse barbarians attacked us out of nowhere, sir. We didn’t even have our shields uncovered. Some of the boys couldn’t get their helmets on. It was a bloody mess, sir.”
“I told the tribune earlier that we should march in full gear, like Tribune Umbra always had us do, but he laughed at me. Called me a coward in my face. Afterwards he told a different story. Said I didn’t follow his orders.”
“The men haven’t been paid for a while as well, sir. It’s not like it was in the days when the boy Gordian was emperor.”
“Bloody bastard is giving all your coin to the Sasanians, that’s why you haven’t been paid”, Hositlius interjected.
“The boys refused to march any further, sir. In fact, we all refused. Legate Decius became very angry. He had us assemble on the parade ground. Told us we were a disgrace and that we failed him by allowing the barbarians to kick our arses.”
“He discharged us then for cowardice, sir. You don’t get any pension if you get discharged disgracefully, you know.”
I couldn’t help but wonder whether the reason for the discharge was the inability of the treasury to pay the legion.
“So why are you here, travelling north? “Should you not be heading south, to Philippopolis?” I asked.
Decius stared at me as if I had asked him why the sky was blue.
“Been there already, Tribune Umbra. We went to talk to the emperor, to ask him for our coin. We wanted to ask him to set right the mess of Senator Decius.”
He sighed. “Emperor chased us away like dogs, sir. Threatened to set the legions on us.”
“But he is in Rome, isn’t he?” Marcus asked.
“With respect, sir, the emperor arrived in Philippopolis about a moon ago. He’s got three legions with him, sir. He’s here to chase the barbarians back across the Danube.”
It was his turn to take another swallow. “We are desperate, sir. We got no food, in fact, apart from our swords and shields, we got nothing. Most of us have nowhere to go, the killing business is all we are good at. It’s all we know.”
I am not a man prone to pity, but in that moment I experienced deep sympathy for the men sitting across from me. I met Hostilius’s gaze and I saw the same emotion in his eyes.
Marcus put it into words. “Lucius, the same monster who murdered your father wronged these men. I know many of them. It feels as if they are my family. We have a duty to come to the aid of our brothers.”
He was not ashamed to say it out loud.
I watched the reaction of the three centurions. In that moment they would have followed him into the depths of Hades.
Looking back, that was the moment in which, I believe, the seed was planted in the minds of the men of the Danubian legions. The idea that Marcus Aurelius Claudius deeply cared about their fate. He was already known as a capable military man, but in the end, to achieve greatness, so much more than mere competency is required.
Chapter 29 - Orator
Early the following morning, Marcus and I sat in the tent of my mentor. Hostilius did not join us as he had ‘some matters to attend to’, to use his own words
The king listened intently, amazed at our retelling of the story of the IV Italica.
“Bradakos, these men are warriors. Arguably the best legion in the whole of Roman lands. They deserve better”, I said.
He said nothing for a while, deep in thought.
Then the king of the Roxolani stood. “Go now, Prince Eochar. You have my blessing. Recruit the IV Italica to fight with the tribe. I know that it is what you wish for.” We turned to leave, but he added: “We will pay them the gold that they are owed by the oathbreaker. The gold which we have taken from the lands of Rome.”
Before we could leave, a scout arrived to report to the king.
“Lord, a Roman legion is marching north, along the Roman road. They are heading for the men Lord Eochar spoke with yesterday. They will reach them within a watch, lord.”
Bradakos grinned. “Take Gordas and his men, Eochar. Send a message if you are in need of the Roxolani.”
We rode to inform Hostilius of the king’s decision, finding the Primus Pilus clean-shaven and immaculately kitted out
in full Roman uniform.
I narrowed my eyes. “Primus Pilus, were you forewarned about the king’s decision or have you recently been blessed with the sight?”
Hostilius was all business. “Tribune, I did some thinking during the night. My place is with my legion. The gods have sent my brothers to me.”
I shared with him the words of the king.
Less than a third of a watch had passed when we arrived at the campsite of the men of the IV Italica.
They had no senior officers to guide them. They were leaderless, without morale, their dignity taken away from them. That is until Hostilius arrived.
I watched as he rounded up the centurions and expertly put them to work. Soon the whole mob of legionaries assembled to hear his words.
“Why are you here?” Hostilius barked.
The Primus Pilus was not only well-respected, he was widely feared.
Silence descended on the ranks as none of the legionaries wished to be singled out as the target of Hostilius’s ire.
The centurion knew all by name and he lifted his vine cane, pointing at a legionary in the front of the mob. The Primus Pilus growled: “Publius Urvinus, third century, fourth cohort. Why are you here?”
Publius looked around nervously, but there was no way out of his predicament. “We are in the legions to defend Rome against them barbarians, sir.”
Hostilius pointed to a second victim. “Marcus Furius, fifth century, second cohort. Why are you here?”
Marcus tried not to make eye contact, but after a moment he said: “We must honour our soldier’s oath to the emperor, sir. Shouldn’t we?”
Hostilius continued, now in his booming Primus Pilus voice. “Let me tell you whoresons why I joined the legions. I did it for the gold and the loot.”
“All else is shit. Isn’t it?”
A grumbling of agreement could be heard from within the massed ranks of the soldiers.
“Did you go to Philippopolis to ask the emperor to kill barbarians? Did you ask him whether you could honour your oath? Bloody-well no!”
“You walked all this way to ask the bastard to give you the coin due to you.”
I could hear a few “yes, centurion” calls coming from the ranks.
He pointed to me and Marcus, a few paces away. “Tribune Marcus and Tribune Umbra have arranged that you will receive all the gold that you are due!”
A deafening roar went up from the ranks, but Hostilius roared: “Silence!”
“Who saved your miserable lives at Rhesaina? Was it the emperor?”
“No. It was Tribune Umbra and them Goths”, the mob responded as one.
Hostilius was not done yet. “As we speak, a legion is marching against you. They will be here in less than a third of a watch. The emperor has sent them to kill you. You have been betrayed.”
Shouts of anger could be heard, echoing through the ranks.
The Primus Pilus pointed to the five hundred Hun riders milling about in the distance.
“We have a chance to regain our honour. We will join the Goths, and by doing so, we will repay them the debt of honour. We will avenge the murder of the true emperor. We will show the usurper-emperor why the IV Italica is known as the best there is.”
“What say you?”
The mob roared their approval.
Hostilius took these broken men and gave them a modicum of dignity, and a chance to regain their honour. More importantly, he would give them gold.
He walked over to us and said in a low voice: “Domitius, now it’s your turn. You bloody better have a plan.”
I smiled. “I do, Primus Pilus Proculus. But I cannot guarantee that it will be as effective as your speech.”
* * *
The IV Italica camped close to the Utus River, north of the wooden Roman bridge. Mayhap camped is the wrong word, as they had no tents but slept in the open, in a disorganized mob.
Hostilius soon took control and restored order. A mile north of the bridge, the IV Italica deployed in battle formation. As I had requested, their frontage was narrow, but many ranks deep.
Acting as a screen, the tenth cohort was deployed between the river and the legion. They had their backs to the river, walking slowly towards the ordered ranks of their comrades. This would create the scenario the approaching legion expected to encounter. A mob of leaderless, hungry, demoralized men that would offer no resistance.
I split the Huns into two equal groups. One I would command, the other group would be led by Gordas. We hid in the dense shrubs and trees that lined the banks of the river.
For the men of the legions it was incomprehensible for the IV Italica to have joined the barbarians. This was the advantage we would exploit.
Before long a Hun scout, who had been watching the bridge, appeared. “Lord, three hundred Roman cavalry approaching the bridge.” He wore the look of someone who had more to say. I nodded and he added: “They have fine horses, lord, but they ride poorly. The foot soldiers of the Romans are half a mile behind their horse warriors.”
I expected the Roman equestrians to be supremely confident, knowing that they would be attacking foot soldiers without any cavalry support. They would anticipate the mob to scatter in fear of their charge. Therefore I had arranged it to happen exactly in the manner that they expected.
The men of the tenth cohort turned their heads, pointed in the direction of the bridge and started running north along the road. The equestrians waited for all the riders to cross the bridge before they fanned out and advanced in a long line towards the fleeing mob. We remained hidden until the Roman cavalry went from a walk to a canter. The Huns charged from the undergrowth, trailing the equestrians by three hundred paces.
The Roman cavalry spurred their horses to a gallop, riding knee to knee, spears levelled. They were eager to close with the men running for their lives. That is, until the neatly dressed formation of the IV Italica parted briefly to allow their fleeing comrades passage through their ranks. The running mob was replaced by thousands of legionaries in tight ranks, shields grounded.
The Roman riders reined in, halting in confusion. Then they noticed the unidentified horsemen approaching from behind. To his credit, the tribune in command did not panic, but issued orders to dress the line. They levelled their spears and charged at the barbarians who had cut them off from the legion.
But the Urugundi Huns were demons on horseback. Their skill as riders and archers knew no equal. I gave the order and the horde seamlessly spread out in a line to overlap that of the outnumbered Romans. All took three arrows into their draw hands, with their bows in the other. The sturdy Hun horses galloped at full speed, guided only by the thighs of their riders. At a hundred paces, five hundred armour-piercing arrows left the strings with a near flat trajectory. Before the first wave hit, a second flight was in the air, followed by a third in less than a heartbeat.
The equestrians could sooner have ridden into a solid wall. Four out of five Roman horses reached the Huns without their riders, allowing the barbarians to snatch the reins and claim their prizes.
The few Romans who were still in the saddle were either already dead or quickly dispatched with blows from swords or battle-axes. None escaped the slaughter.
The charging horses created a thick dust cloud, masking the battle from the approaching legion. The legionaries loyal to Philip the Arab was chomping at the bit to join the fray and claim their share of the loot, still unaware of what had transpired.
I did not intervene when the Huns looted the dead. I allowed enough time for no more than a quarter of the legion to cross the narrow bridge, then rode closer to the Hun commander.
“Come, Gordas”, I shouted. “Summon the warriors, there is more loot to be had.”
The two enemy cohorts who had already crossed were assembling two hundred paces from the bridge, on our side of the river. A steady stream of legionaries joined their formation from the rear.
Shouts of surprise rose from the enemy ranks as the barbarian riders emerged from the
cloud of dust, walking their horses in the direction of the river. Following in our wake were the dressed ranks of the IV Italica.
The advantage now lay with us, as the cavalry support of the enemy was no more.
When two hundred paces separated us from the enemy legion, Gordas and I peeled from the group and approached the enemy side by side at a slow trot, in the centre of the field. At a hundred paces we diverged as we rode outwards with the intention of returning to the starting point by way of a circular path. Each of us was followed by half of the Hun horde, the warriors riding two abreast.
I slowly increased the pace, going to a canter. The battle fury was building inside my veins, increasing as the pace picked up. A thousand hooves ground the soil to a fine powder that slowly whirled into the air. I nudged Simsek to a gallop, clamped his flanks with my legs and let go of the reins. Then, instinctively, my horn, wood and sinew bow found my left palm. I rode low in the saddle, and reached for three arrows with my right hand while my stallion accelerated.
I knew from experience that the choking dust would have reached the enemy lines. All they would see is a giant cloud, akin to a whirlwind, ascending into the sky. They would not expect what was to come. Never before had they faced the storm.
I straightened the line and emerged from the dust, fifty paces from the front rank of the enemy. I turned my horse with my legs, now riding virtually parallel to the enemy line. The string of the asymmetrical bow was already drawn to my right ear. In that perfect moment when all four of Simsek’s legs were in the air I released, aiming at the gap between two legionary shields. As the first arrow struck the shield, I released the second, then the third.
Behind me I heard a sound similar to hail striking a clay roof as hundreds of arrows impacted along a frontage of only twenty paces. I urged Simsek onwards, re-joined the circle, and nocked three arrows as I came around again. This time my second arrow found a minute gap and a legionary fell forward, the arrow embedded in his neck. Armour-piercing war arrows poured through the gap, more legionaries fell, and the screaming intensified. The storm of arrows did not let up. The Roman line was crumbling. Then it was my turn again and all three arrows found flesh.
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